


Theory of Eden

by shadowspice



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressing, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Hate to Love, Heavy Angst, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Murder Mystery, Murder-Suicide, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Psychological Drama, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suspense, Thriller, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowspice/pseuds/shadowspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{AU}<br/>EDITED </p><p>// Detective!Mello x unknowncharacter!Near //  </p><p>"Mello loved him like he loved no one else since. Every second is like a curse, a cruel, small reminder. Once, the world was on his hands, but now, everything he has, is everything he doesn't want. He doesn't want to live anymore. No, that's not quite right. It's just that, he knew what he was, and what to do, when Near was there. That boy was there for as long as he could remember, and he just never dreamed of it not being that way. Every decision, every word, every action, every thought - you may not see it, but it's there - Near's presence in all of it. You can say, that's exactly the problem. Losing Near meant losing himself."</p><p>||MELLOXNEAR MERONIA AU||</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mello.

**THEORY OF EDEN: Chapter 1 **

**Author's note: A Meronia thriller/suspense alternate universe to offer for all of you mystery and Death Note lovers and melloxnear trash out there. I do not own the series and characters, just the plot. (ha ha ) Hope you enjoy!**

 Warning: Disturbing concepts and suggestions of abuse/rape.

* * *

 

_"M-Mello..!"_

_"Stop!" The pale boy before him lay bruised and corrupted as the complete counterpart of his usual immaculate self, distorting foundations that once supported the reality between the two rivals. Mello shuts his eyes in three counts that turns to the longest five seconds of his existence, thinking the nightmare would disappear once and for all like the illusion it should be. Still, despite his pleads for a divine miracle on the cross that adorned his chest; his prayers for salvation to the entity who's supposed to be in dominant control - these circumstances were hardly anything similar to a dream._

_Regardless of the length and volume of his screams, none of them ceased to stop. They pursued a steady pace, laughing their heads off at the bare sight of him, plastering him on the concrete with force that could kill. One of them held Mello on his knees, continuously beating his stomach and spine until he spat blood. They didn't let him look away, rough hands holding his head in place as to witness the crime being done._

_"…He's…not what I expected to be." One of them panted, savoring the taste of salty skin; the wetness of the cherry liquid that dripped from their victim's lips and the cries of help he sealed with his mouth. Black hair stuck on the perpetrator's sweaty back, red eyes gleaming with the acrid smell of felony taking place._

_"Let go of him, Beyond!" It's a useless cause for him and the boy. Mello could only curse himself for being so weak, because If he weren't so, then he could've pulled the albino away from them minutes ago; and he could've prevented the situation from reaching the worst end. At the very least, he thought he could shove the grinning teen away from him, but he was cemented immobile on the musky ground, the rust of blood and scent of sick fluids suffocating his senses._

_His head convulsed with rage and humiliation, his bloodshot eyes beginning to tear apart with the pressure ripping his skull. He kicked the wooden pillar he was chained to, struggled from it as he shrilled obscenities, but they all remained futile._

_"Make...it stop." His coarse voice void of will penetrated Mello's being further, impaling him with a weapon sharper than a foot-long knife. He screeched with anger, pushing the man away from him. He yelped and tried to reach out, but he wasn't near enough._

_He was stuck a helpless five meters away, and before he could possibly progress, they'd knock him back to where he started._

_"Please… " He hoarsely insisted, the onslaught yet to go a full round. He mustered up another cry of desperation and gave up another string of hope, acid welling up to his throat as he vomited the disgust out of his system until it was replaced by another searing burn._

_He began to think if there would be an end, but his mind had already wiped its own out, blank and empty, except for the echoes that told him of his worth - of his failure and disappointment. The boy before him, once condemned for his faultless being, rested lifelessly like a broken toy, gray eyes lacking the shine they once carried._

_His world dimmed into an abyss of sheer melancholy, the blackness marking his soul of a chaos that will perpetually endure as a permanent reminder. Mello could only wonder how one man could be so noble as to keep his faith, for at this very moment and to whatever left in his life to succeed, he just prayed for the devil to take all the pain away._

* * *

 

**.: 14:25 Durham Police Headquarters :.**

More often than not, Saturdays are usually the longest.

At six, party crashers and drunk addicts; homicide at eleven, sometimes a random hostage three minutes into twelve; and a gunpoint mixture of every crime plausible at one in the afternoon.

Not like such trivial cases concerned the blonde's scope of responsibility, but he usually took note of it, putting a tally bar on each one. The last drop of his Mocha Latte had long passed his lips and the sun peeked in a new scorching level of stress, stations buzzing with the continuous entrance of reports and identification files.

Three bars of chocolate until finally, it was time to move.

He stood, leather grazing his knees on the way to station 3C, greeting a few agents who passed him by. Mello pushed the glass doors open, meeting the gust of cold air as he did. The investigation room was fairly small, surrounded by empty gray walls and metal flourishing, a long table in the middle of it all where stood stacks of both unimportant and extra copies under officer Brian's nose - a lanky, red-faced single man with owl eyes. 

There were wrinkles on the officers' foreheads, bags under bags in the surveillance division's eyes as they monitored footage all the way to Brighton and Winchester. All their gazes shifted from the documents to the disinterest in the detective's features, sighing upon recognition.

"Hit and run," One of them started, "Intersection between Watling road and Cockton Hill. A 7.6rem bullet was used to shoot Sir William Moore dead in the front seat of his black Porsche." Private Rester affirms quickly. He massages his forehead, contemplating just how much times he had encountered something of the same nature. On a daily basis, he said to himself.

"He wasn't the one driving?" The younger of the two inquires, folding his arms. The cop nods, almost certain the blonde could solve the case using the smallest confirmation from him. Mello digs into his pockets until he felt the hard, rectangular interior, smirking once he did.

"Where was he?," He peeled the foil skin, eyeing the treat hungrily. He bit a chunk off before speaking, "The diver." Rester begins to read the written report again, all of them following suit.

A younger male answered back, "The driver testified that he pulled over after Moore asked him to go to the nearest shop to buy a cake for his wife's birthday. He came back to find his employer dead."

The chocoholic narrowed his blue eyes. Gevanni insisted on keeping a silent communication with Mello, slowly following his line of logic. "It's an alibi." The Japanese officer exclaimed, folding his hands. The redhead facing the monitors turned and reached for a piece of paper, scribbling something on it.

"Was he under a detector when he claimed as such?" Rester shakes his head.

"Then, do you have any other solid evidence to prove that he didn't know of the assassination?" A male of Mello's age approaches him, handing him the piece of paper. Mello scans it contents: information on both Williams and the driver, George Atkins, along with their web of suspicious connections.

"No." Sergeant Ross straightens his tie, moving up as to face Mello. "Moore did not only have deep links with Mafia, he was also a double-agent working for the British police."

"Point is," Mello continues, "The _Mafiya_ discovered this and decided to get rid of him." He waves the thin material to his face, cerulean eyes already certain.

Ross flicks his tongue across his dry lips, intently reading the young detective, "We figured as much."

"Furthermore," Mello continues, "George had only been employed for two weeks. Coincidence at its finest degree." This dawns realization upon the investigators, "George is the key to execute such a carefully constructed murder." Rester adds.

"The driver not being present within the time of murder is a perfect defense – an alibi that would surely fool most of the police." Gevanni states next, darting to Mello's way.

Rester exchanges glances with Ross, gesturing him to settle down; the other two officers scurrying their way out of the investigation room while desperately pushing phone buttons and filing exclusive reports to the neighboring station. Mello insinuates preparation for the interrogation room while Gevanni mutters another "Case closed."

The Sergeant taps Mello's shoulder, whispering to his ear, "What are you going to do if the Mafia gets mixed up in this mess?" Mello grunts, finishing the rest of the forgotten Hershey bar. "The farthest they can go against me is within their imagination." Ross nods, not surprised with the revelation.

"This is why I don't like Russians." He announces. Mello was set to move unto another case, checking the time as he left the room. He groans – five minutes.

A man tails him, dashing out a stick of expensive cigarette. Mello turns to meet his personal informant, stopping him on his track, "I'd like you to keep close supervision in that interrogation room, Matt." The smoker narrows his eyes, blowing off rings of smoke. A pair of goggles sat protectively on his nose, a fashion statement he previously reasoned to 'lessen' the contact of radiation on his pupils.

"You still don't trust your comrades?" The older detective chuckles at the correct accusation.

"I would do it myself if I could." Mello grabs his keys and walks out to leave until Matt steps to block his way. He raises a gloved hand holding a cellular phone, one that Mello recognized as the untraceable device they only used to communicate with special ops.

"Looks like you gotta forget about that appointment of yours, though." This confuses Mello, but he obliges and drops his coat. He has an imaginary law in his head, - rendering services on who called first without advance reservations. He'd hate to break that rule, but then again he's only going to do it once. Besides, he was a sucker for thrill.

 He takes the phone and places it on his ear, waiting for the other line to speak. Though, he didn't expect it to be him out of all possible clients.

 _"It's me, M."_ Mello's lips turn into a tight-lipped frown, brows joining at the top of his nose bridge. Matt reciprocates the action oppositely, though, rather grinning mockingly at his friend.

"L?"

_"You don't sound pleased. Having a bad day, perhaps?"_

"I was doing good until I decided to pick up the phone. Why are you using this line?" Mello sits on his desk, lifting his leg up to the edge. As expected, Matt brings out his game console as to satisfy the lack of movement, hands trained to keep typing all day.

_"I'm in England, actually. I arrived just a few hours ago."_

"Why?"

 _"Should I have a reason for coming home?_ " He replies, tone neutral and cold. He hasn't changed, Mello thought - he could imagine the older detective's signature appearance, on his chair, toes bare and outstretched, forking a piece of strawberry shortcake.

 _"How are you?_ "

"Let's keep this conversation professional." Mello scowls, glaring at the floor.

 _"Fine, let's skip the greetings."_ L clears his throat, _"There's a case I'd like you to work on instead."_

 _'A case?'_ Mello suddenly ponders, alert. L had never abandoned a case, especially since the genius solves it faster than the physical process of bringing it into another's authorization. He was childish that way, selfish in a sense. As result, this pulled away Mello from comfort and disgruntled his esteem.

"Are your skills rusting, old man?" Matt gapes at the retort.

_"I am in fact not that old. I just thought that you would hate me more if I didn't bring this case to your attention."_

"Well, don't waste my time."

 _"I know you want to forget what happened ten years ago, Mello."_ The leather-clad male freezes, all side thoughts blurring out from his brain. Matt notices the sudden absence of reaction and pauses his game for a moment, concern lacing prominently.

 "What do you mean?" He hesitated, his adrenaline accelerating at the notion behind the statement.

 _"You were so young - fifteen. No one could handle such an extreme level of trauma, but you did."_ L gravelly explains, causing Mello to panic, but at the least obvious manner. His eyes widened by a fraction after hearing what's mentioned, throwing a worried glance at his friend.

"....get to the point." He stutters with great uncertainty.

" _This involves elements that could be connected to Near's death."_

For the past four years of profession, Mello had never felt so utterly petrified; so horribly tense at such mere epiphany, fearing the ill memories that poured fuel in his fire, pushing him further to the cliff. Furthermore, he never thought that it's going to be said from the lips of a man who was present, who could've done something ten years ago, - and yet chose not to.

  _"It's not my intention to bring back your painful past, however…_ " Mello doesn't reply. His palm grips the gadget, knuckles turning white as his stance hardened similar to a stone wall built to prevent collapse. Dark thoughts assaulted his mind repeatedly, recalling the events that caused his eventual destruction.

  _"You cannot run away from it. Only a sore loser would stoop so low_." _A winner thrives to solve the puzzle_. He continues. He had heard the same words before when he ran away from the orphanage, carrying but a single bag consisting mostly of chocolates. He remembered it vividly like a film that played: the rain; the mud; the sorrow. The day after the funeral, where he felt cold and indifferent for the first time in his life.

It was the occurrence that changed him, what pushed him to be in this position - hunting suspects and solving crimes, attempting to lift even just a single rock of guilt from his chest.

L stops, almost having second thoughts of bestowing such a heavy endeavor to his apprentice; the apprentice he wasn't able to salvage, _"This might give you answers."_

"What's happening, Mels?" The computer expert hunches on the floor, trying to get his partner to look at him. ' _Can you even hear me?'_

 _"You must find BB and apprehend him for his crimes._ " His predecessor declares.

Mello lets go of his last grip of sanity, "Don't do this to me." He growls, pitch low and threatening. The fire laying low implodes into the worst temper yet, catching the hacker off-guard.

"Mello –"

"I can't do this!" He bursts, promenading the area with apprehension. Intangible, but the pain was there; tearing his heart out in the open to bleed. L never understood Mello's impulsiveness, and neither did Mello comprehend L's figurative objectiveness. One can't only rely on facts alone, not when humans are driven by the aftereffects of madness; of demise and false affections.

Mello, was but the same. If he were served a silver platter of vengeance, he'd gleefully devour it; and he'd undoubtedly allow it to color his system. He'd do such to satisfy his inner thirst, even if it meant blaspheming his righteousness; even if it meant that he'd be in the same shoes as a murderer.

" _A is_ dead." L interjects firmly. _"We arrived at a conclusion of foul-play. Nevertheless, we ask for your opinion on the matter - you can't deny the fact that you know them best."_ Mello forms a fist, his dominance over the situation faltering. Out of everything L had told him, one word overwhelmed him too much. A name he hasn't spoken in almost a decade.

"It was suicide," Voice brittle, Mello struggles to keep his words intact. "That's what happened. There's nothing else to investigate about Near."

_"Do you truly believe that? I am aware of your suspicions, M, so it is either you take this opportunity, or the justice you've always painstakingly looked for will not be served."_

Mello spares a quick glance at the anxious redhead, wanting ask him then and there on what to do. He couldn't do this by himself, not when it's about him. "L..."

" _Mello, this is neither for me, nor you."_ The veteran detective argues, trying to make his way through Mello's subconsciousness. Unfortunately, emotions still controlled the blonde, rationality barely keeping a stable foothold.

 _"This is for Near,"_ L whispers, _"Isn't that the reason why you've come this far?"_ The fiery genius keeps his silence, the years of loathing himself and his incompetence taking an unexpected route, replaced by a profound sense of judgement. What if, by any cruel chance, it is what is meant to be done? What if his assumptions had always been right?

 _"I know you are afraid, but not because for the wrong reasons. You don't want to remember."_ The other line interrupts.

" _But you are stronger now_ ," The truth triggers Mello, clearing his mind from his fears and the like, replaced by a single, strident voice, telling him only of one thing to do.

To fight; to be strong - stronger than what he needs to be, to face what he thought had ended years ago, when he decided to no longer submit the wants of the heart. Even if it meant that he would suffer like he did for craving something quite special; quite minty to his taste, like numb fingers that brought life to his lips and made him feel life was good, even once - even if it were just a simple delusion.

Mello swallows, coming to a resolution. "...I'll be there in ten minutes." He discloses. One could wonder just what a faithful is expected to do. Is it to keep praying? Pray to be rescued and remain still on their feet?

"For Nate." Mello hangs up.

For Mello, it's no time to ride some high horse, persecuting the unjust and the inevitable addiction that is murder. Mello couldn't be more certain, but he felt the touch of stink beneath all the dirt, pulling him to do otherwise.

Matt stood there, completely clueless and dismissed. The blonde ended the call, mentally drained and way past his call time. Without a spare of wit from the redhead, Mello dragged him away and to the parking lot; in return he could only conclude of one thing.

Saturday nights could mean serial killings or a piece of lemon pie and he would miss both, - or so he thought.

 

* * *

 

_Gevanni, who was merely passing by, overhears the conversation between the two detectives. He gulps at the idea of eavesdropping, especially when it came to Mello, who was temperamental; and happens to be second of the greatest detectives in the whole world, which generally puts him in no position to investigate the blonde. Though, he did - he intruded the basic directory the Headquarters contained, only being able to gather a minuscule amount of the detective's data. What he did know, is of the River Suicide Case, dating back to 2005. In the same instant he discovered of such, he researched and collected old reports of the death of a boy named Near._

_'July 16th, 2005. Twelve thirty-three a.m, a young boy of the alias Near, also once referred to as Nate River, disappeared in Winchester England, by the sea behind Wammy's House.' The article included of witnesses, and he glimpsed at a short column about the genius L, who closed the case, even though no body was found. He didn't see any clue of the blonde being present or correlated with the case, but from what he heard - Mello was more than involved with it._

_As he jaunted back to elevator, he feels a vibration on his chest and platinum eyes fall on the caller ID, suddenly perplexed by the difference in postal code. He picks up the phone hunched and low, mouth gradually dropping with the words spoken._

_"How in the world did that happen?" He lifts to bite a finger, eyes blinking rapidly with all the subsequent explanations said._ _He curses, realizing what's bound to happen._

_The officer glides to grab his license, concentrated on the new case at hand and certain of its intricacy. He saves L.A. federal prison under his emergency contact list, dials his boss and he's all set for a new mission, forgetting the pressing matters about Mello._

_'Prisoner 18936, Beyond Birthday -current whereabouts unknown; New Location: Winchester, England.'_

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note: I'm real nervous about this one, but I've already outlined the whole story until the very end. I just intend to add more details and make it more realistic, which, I know will not always be accurate. However, I do wish you all enjoyed and do look forward to this story. Will be posting every week ( or less, since I'm pretty motivated the write this until the very end ) and I hope you all have a great day!**

**P.S. I'm sorry, I know what you're thinking. Pretty aware of what I did. Will I name this MERONIA THOUGH IF I INTENDED THEM NOT TO END UP? LOL IM MERONIA TRASH I AINT THAT KIND OF FANFICTION WRITER I AINT THAT STRAIGHT OUT REALISTIC AND OBJECTIVE BYE.**

**~nevecalleana**


	2. Chapter 2

**THEORY OF EDEN:** **Chapter Two**

**Author's note and disclaimer: I do not own death note and its characters, except for the plot of the story. Whoever takes the time to read my fics, I appreciate it a lot. If you are wondering, this story may also include psychological concepts and angst. This story will not also be as accurate as reality for it's been fabricated to fit the story. Although I did do my own research, not all points of information are accurate, which I apologize for in advanced.**

**That's all for now and I hope you enjoy the chapter. All the love - nc**

_ Warning: Graphic mentions of abuse and rape. Includes character deaths. Read at your own risk. _

* * *

**.: 15:16, 9th Street Bellhorn :.**

The two geniuses skid past the metal flooring of the lift, traversing through the familiar odor of a typical murder scene. Yellow caution tapes connected to one ledge to another as multiple police officers scratched their heads, hostility getting thicker and thicker within the gloom of the diminutive area. "It's leaking everywhere," Matt comments, rubbing his nose at the sock-puking stench.

Mello inhales a lungful of breath in ought to calm his nerves; the footprints of anguish circling his skin derived from the inevitable loss he was pushed to face. He's not certain with what way he's going to address the situation, or how he could tell anybody of what dubious fate his old friend ended with. Mello winces.

The redhead nudges the frozen blonde, his arm finding a way across the blonde's back as to reassure, "If you're going to look like that the whole day, they're going to think you killed the damn person." Mello snaps out of his thoughts, rolling his eyes at the humorless effort. Mello quickly ties his shoulder-length hair and replaces his maroon coat with a different gear to prevent contamination, which Matt follows thereafter.

Matt pushes the pair of goggles up to his forehead, sneezing by the slummy interior of the small, baroque apartment block. They stood on the third floor, each story limited to three rooms - the one on the far end being A's quarters. Strangers and assumed acquaintances were similar to ants blocking each space. They were all curious people; asking questions, spreading rumors and feigning concern to the victim. Their insidious eyes, heinous minds, - they were all under their mercy, the gamer thought.

Matt bites his ashen lips.

The detective swivels on his high-knee boots, grabbing his pensive partner, "You can go in first." Mello dives into the protective clothing out of habit for the comforting flavor of chocolate, frowning once he realizes his friend's words. "Hey, don't tell me it's _happening_ , out all times, right now?" The blonde slaps the striped back as if to bring groundings back to Matt. He nods it off, coughing.

"Just one stick," He jerks his head to laugh, swallowing the bile of anxiety back to his stomach. Matt heads outside leaving Mello in his own device.

"Right," Mello enters beyond the restrictions, scrunching his nose as he was met by the source of foulness. At every step, the wooden planks creaked underfoot, globules of blood staining from the Hustler magazines to its origin.

He stumbles on a lamp desk, meeting the wary glances of three cops covering the rotting flesh. They step a generous distance away, giving access to the raw evidences enumerated on the floor for the blonde to see.

Mello absorbs his environment - a minute nightstand is positioned to the right while a rectangular metal table sat in the middle of a round, fibrous carpet; a window just big enough to illuminate the space.

Mello's attention then falls upon the stale blue features, feeling sick at the gruesome browning of copper on his mouth; and down to his open torso that no longer pumped blood. The detective closes his eyes, undoubtedly repulsed by the horrendous sight. Face - it hasn't changed. Young and timid, like the teen he was. His jaw elongated, hands stuck in a repugnant position.

He clenches his fist, blonde fringes falling by his temples. He knew about Above enough albeit the fact their relationship didn't develop further. They only talked mostly during the times Mello needed favors, and it never got too personal, unlike Matt.

A deployed himself from the rest of his group. - He wasn't like the three, because as far as Mello could remember, he sympathized – cared, even. Mello can't help but think that A's death might be the greatest act of loyalty to his promise of exploiting Beyond and his plans; and that fact alone made A deserve the detective's utmost respect.

One of the officers steps forward, his brown mustache tilting, "He routinely goes out for a smoke every morning, have a little chit-chat with some pals. Though, that didn't happen today. It freaked them out that the bloke hasn't gone out the whole day. Fortunately enough, they broke in, and well, dead meat right there." He thinly states.

"As you can see, there are no CCTV cameras in this measly place. No witnesses either."

Mello sighs heavily, whispering, "That bloody helps." Mello slips on disposable gloves, cringing at the brutal stab wounds. There's one on the left hip, four on the chest, three on the abdomen. The dead flesh attracted flies too, much to their distaste.

"Must be bad for you, eh? Though, I heard that he's been bombarded with threats lately." Hedgekins says, folding his arms. "You a CSI or what?" He mocks, yellow teeth seeking out of cracked lips. Mello flashes his ID that earned a whistle from the crook. "Durham Detective? Y'all an upper-class bummer?" Mello grunts.

The medical department arrives with the necessary equipment in hand, pathologists taking the initiative to examine the body. Mello stands and studies the scene, from the position to the type of wounds and the stage of decomposition. ' _It's been here for quite a time.'_ He blows a strand of sun-kissed yellow off his sight and turns to see Matt there, reviewing every nook and cranny, gloves replaced by white ones. He takes a bud and spreads some kind of powder on the space. Mello could only wonder when he brought such.

A masked lady looks up, her ginger hair tied up in a neat bun. "It seems that the body has been undergoing the decomposition process for some time. It's right to assume that it's been here for more than eight hours." Mello's sight narrows.

He lurches to his friend, talking softly as to be only audible between them, "If this is what I think it is then it's not going to be fucking nice." He grits. Matt straightens himself and nods. The gamer, being aware of the dilemma of the extraordinary case possibly caused by a first-rate psychopath, bobs his head.

Mello glares at his friend, "Stop pretending. What did you find?" Matt raises a hand, toning him down.

Matt sneers, "A creepy bug crawling on the floor." He jests. Plunging his foot on the ground to prove his point. CSI agents flood the room with their plummeting utterances and notepads, only one of them seeming credible to Mello. They initiate an initial walk-through, constructing theories Mello had already piled up in his head, tagging potential evidences: a jack knife, a strand of hair, and a cigarette.

' _The jack knife could be eliminated from the list,'_ Mello thinks. _'The stab wounds caused immediate death, only leaving so little time for struggle. The width could be within a rough range between a centimeter and a half or more, five to six inches in length judging from the amount of blood, size of wound.'_ His thoughts trained endlessly, from ones he could scientifically rely on to opinions and rhetorical judgment. _'Besides, who's stupid enough to leave the weapon used? Definitely not in such a well-planned murder, that's for sure.'_

_'The strand of hair could either bring the case to a close or completely mislead this. If the murderer is who I expect it to be, then I could just wish the results to be of our favor and not a trap.'_ Mello thumbs his worn-out rosary, containing the hammering in his chest.

_'Although Beyond may have all the reasons to murder A, we still don't have a concrete proof of BB being held responsible for this.'_ Mello's grip tightens.

' _The threats.'_ He contradicts himself.

The evening of Near's death appeared like an unfamiliar universe the blonde did not belong to. Still, it was quite surreal to him. The blaring crimson lights, the bustling of confused silhouettes and the chilling reality which infiltrated his battered bones remained as a vivid clip of catastrophe to the blonde, replaying like a broken film.

It was dark by the sea; distraught officers bolting from one rough end to another, shouting the name he forbid saying. They were a centimeter close to national broadcast; reports regarding the suicide, but mostly of BB's disappearance.

If the blonde remembered correctly, he waited hours by the shore, wrapped in the gray sheets they provided. He couldn't be moved – not by anyone or his begging friend, and he was frozen until the day after, senseless.

_'I thought he'd come back,'_ Mello thinks, ' _and within each minute, that thought was crushed. They knew I needed…I needed some help.'_

_'So A tipped the police about them which became betrayal on their part.'_ Mello didn't hear a ghost of mention about their name; - not of BB, Cain or Devon, and never did he find a reliable lead. That is, until later, and he couldn't be possibly me more outraged. ' _What if he came back to ensue revenge on A?'_

_'Beyond Birthday...'_ Mello scorns.

_'I don't care what means I must use, but I will find you,'_ For A, for Near - for Mello's conscience. It will not take too long; and no mystery every slithered past the blonde's stone confinement. Just one more evidence and he will be an inch closer to unraveling Near's case.

"You, my friend," Matt presses his pointing finger on Mello's crease, "Have to fix that accumulating demonic outburst in you." Mello swats him away.

"It's not a wise move to provoke me." He warns.

"It's the opposite. I'm warning you."

"…I'll be there." Mello steps to leave in ought to gather witnesses until a silvery voice directly penetrates his spine, coming to a stop. Chestnut locks dimmed the looming hazel eyes that studied each evidence carefully, fully aware of the blonde's presence - yet chose to disregard any formal manner of acknowledgement.

Matt rubs his nape, watching the blonde go. "Bad timing."

"What are you doing here?" Mello protests from a meter of distance.

The older man turns. He did not look any older than twenty, but he was six years past Mello's age. A cunning smile graces the agent's features, "I can humor you a bit, Mello. I'm actually taking over this case."

"What does that mean?"

"That there's no need for a mere substitute." He leers. Matt steps between the two, cider eyes restricting, "Where are your warrants?"

"Warrant? You and I both know that our main purpose here is to provide proper authorization upon investigations. We have our own units for consulting, if that's what you're worried about." He loosens his blue tie, mocking. "Besides, we lawfully do not respect personal transfer of responsibilities." Mello averts his gaze for a moment before pushing the male against the wall, ensuing disturbance to the busy crowd.

"You talk clean for having betrayed us." Mello tears the collar sewn to his trench coat, shoving him harder.

"I'm sure that you know exactly what this whole case means to me." Light remains unmoved, his tone dreary and cold, "Yes. I am aware of the darkness you are still dwelling on, Mello." He grins.

Larger hands grip Mello's, nails embedding through tan skin, "July 3rd, Ten years ago, a boy was subjected to tragic fate. Seniors, specifically fourth-year students of the infamous Wammy's House, assaulted, maltreated, and kept hostage this young, innocent boy you were once so fond of." He appeared to recite it off from a written script, dropping it like an explosive within the blonde's already unstable stature.

The steel hold weakens, wrists falling. Mello falters only for a moment until he toughens the attack. Matt, who told himself about the unwise reaction, keeps the blonde on the ground, dismissing the prying affairs of the officers against Mello's rage. Light continues, testing the choleric male, "After a few weeks, he committed suicide by drowning himself. Unfortunately, no body was recovered. Nature could be harsh sometimes." Mello's morale stoops into a negative platform, the once so certain azure eyes clouded by the immature emotions he once concealed so perfectly.

Mello wondered if anyone was disrespected as much as him. Every sound uttered by the male sent jolts of morphine and frustration within his insides, directly imposing insults on everything he stood for. Near's death was never some sort of a speech, - a piece of document to behold by anybody.

It was the filthiest part of him.

"But you think – and L believes – that that's not the case, and you're playing on the possibility of foul-play, or even survival."

Mello seals his lips with force, teeth gnashing on the soft flesh as shameful tears attempted to escape freely. "You are one fucked up retard, Light. You were L's partner, in case you don't remember." Light doesn't retort, but he chooses to dismiss the blonde, lithe mouth falling to form one unsusceptible simper.

"It's useless if you don't gain anything, Mello." Matt throws Light a dirty look.

"BB, A, Devon, Cain, even you. You are all trapped in this web of a shared tragedy." Mello raises a brash arm as to execute the pain it is meant to serve, which is until a hand stretches to frame him. Presently, even the redhead could do nothing but to interdict the blonde, even if he hypocritically wanted to jab the agent himself. It may lead to court advances or suspension, something that secretly happened before - but not this time, when there are more relevant matters at hand.

Mello feels the warmth of Matt's own palm, leaning a good meter away from the other detective as to restrain himself. "If you know, then there's nothing else we should talk about."He gulps with control.

"This is exactly the reason why I can't let you handle this by yourself." He fearlessly motions towards the blonde, gaze silken. He hunches to speak solely for the blonde to hear, "You have such a deep, deep involvement on this one, M. You're emotionally and psychologically hell bound. You're quite the fickle type, too."

Light ushers closer, smirking. "Tell me, in what way can you prove that you weren't the one who _killed_ A?"

Just seconds after, Mello unleashes a cosmic blow across the handsome features, causing a sudden uproar among the agents and the officers. The cops move to frame Mello, but Light casts them off without the tiniest shine of alarm to thrash his steadiness. Streaks of blood trickled beneath his nose, his right cheek reddening from the force inflicted. It was definitely not a figment of imagination.

"You deserve more than that, Light." Mello glowers. In his head, he's long reached for the revolver plugged into his belt, aiming it right at the impish male for generating an atrocious behavior from him. Mello darted his eyes to all their worried faces, and he's sure as damn that they'll remember the shooter and who was shot, not the reason for such a cause. He couldn't do it because of such an illogical, predetermined outcome.

"Calm down, man!" Hedgekins berates, hand extended from Mello's leather-covered chest to Light's suit. The brunette shakes his head, wiping the blood off his visage as he mustered a chuckle. "It's fine. I started it." Stark silence permeates between the two detectives, eyes training to each other's prominent antipathy and the subdued discord that's been engraved deeply within their actions.

"There's no reason for me to kill A, Light. If you're thinking that you can get anything out from me with your petty games, then I'm telling you now..." Mello urges with murder shadowing azure orbs. "This is no way to gain the upper hand over me."

"Oh, then have you forgotten what A did?" A tongue wipes across sleek lips, knowing exactly the impact of his next statement, "Wasn't A the one who pushed Near to go to that warehouse in the first place?"

"That wasn't his fault."

"I see," Light straightens the crooked, patterned tie, nearing the blonde. "I have no idea whom I will push the blame then." The blonde's eyes widen by a fraction. Mello leaps back, his head disturbed by the ideas Light asserted.

Light plucks a handkerchief, snuffling against the material before he spoke. "I commend your improving maturity, though. Just a _shitty_ tad bit."

"Fucking choke on your blood, Yagami." After exchanging parched profanities, Light proceeds to depart along with a few agents and examiners for a further technical study of the body. The cops lingered behind him, the wrinkles on their foreheads much closer than it was.

"Jeez." Hedgekins replies, "I usually see bystanders beating each other up for no reason, not the detectives themselves."

"Light has always been the subtle rogue of the police." A feminine voice cuts them off, ripping her mask off to reveal freckled cheeks. Her lips didn't have the usual cherry hue but of a natural pink, ginger hair no longer in a fixed bun. "He doesn't choose sides, so it's hard to say what he's thinking. I don't like that." This is when Mello notices her pupils - neither syrupy or lime, but of a pitch dark, obsidian black. Her jaw is smooth, skin fairer than the standard pale skin.

She's draped with a pristine coat beneath her gear as if she hurried to the scene herself, not acquiring even a few minutes to take it off. "My name is Naomi Misora." She reaches out a pair manicured hands towards the two. Matt takes it first, not rather fond of displeasing women.

' _Japanese_?' The blonde folds his features, "Don't you work on the same team?" Mello cautions.

"We do, for a few months now." She folds her arms, dropping the idea of being overly friendly to the blonde. "But I don't tolerate spoiled kids with a false sense of justice." She stalks to the unfolded sheets on the bed, pulling out a black, fleecy coat Mello presumes to have belonged to A. She clutches the buttons and fondles the inner area, beaming once she found what she needed.

"As you guys were caught up in your disdainful rendezvous, I found something a bit interesting." She unfolds the thin material, revealing a sequence of numbers written on the note. "It's quite cliche, but I think it might help you." Naomi thrusts it to Mello's direction.

Mello contracts inwardly to his stature at the sudden offer, but without any choice, he accepts it cautiously. Mello crumples the small paper, passively eyeing Naomi, "You're giving it to me?" She shrugs.

"Call it instinct or whatever you want, but," A new auburn shade meets azure orbs once Naomi mounts herself within Mello's personal vicinity, causing a silent discomfort on Mello's part. "More than anything, I think that you are the strongest evidence we have."

Mello relaxes his shoulders but the contempt remained evident on every curvature of his stance, all due to the utter awareness of his situation. He played the role of a witness and a potential culprit to his own supposed colleagues, and that's no good news to Mello's who operates methodically different from the rest. There's no way they'll leave him alone within his own means – they will find a way to gander at Mello's every action.

Mello sighs, handing the runty code of numbers to his restless associate. The detective denotes himself for being careless, including the incident just a little while ago. Physiologically, he was there, but his mind wandered on remnants of deliberation, allowing the other sleuth on his own. "Why don't we call it, Mels?" Matt flips his phone, quickly dialing the number without a hint of permission.

"It can't be tracked, Mello." He answers the blonde's confused expression.

The first ring resounds in the room, capturing the attention of both the scientist and the contemplating detective. Mello's minute jitters escalated to pounding anxiety, shaking his booted foot as he waited for the next, and the next...

Matt mirrors the blonde's gestures, sucking his teeth with apparent unease. After about the umpteenth ring, the line finally picks up. Mello now had his arms on his side unlike earlier, sapphire orbs watching with intent. As more seconds ticked by, the silvery sunlight no longer peered to give luminescence, the shadowy braches whistling its after-storm lullabies.

There was a click, and then a rhythmical sound. _"Is that you, A?"_ Matt betrays his prior thoughts of assuage upon hearing the youthful, female voice, approaching his companion's direction.

"...Linda?" Matt confesses, perturbed even himself. The blonde violently takes the phone and quickly pulls his guard up in distressing heights.

" _Oh my god, Matty_ -

"This is Mello right now." His calm question becomes a scowl. "Where are you?"

" _Mello? Who – Mihael?! It's been how long? What's happening – why do you have A's phone-_

"He's dead." Mello bursts, shattering Linda's peace along with him. A painful silence persists between the two lines until there was an abrupt, constricted exhale of breath.

" _Wh-what? Mello, don't play with me."_ Her voice shakes with the invisible wetness caused by her impending wail of lament. Mello fists the supple leather of his pants, proving the burden difficult, but his vigilance spares no one, not even a former classmate. "For the longest time you've known me, do you think I will joke about something like this?"

With the blonde's testimony, a chain of cries and broken words erupt to melodically seek after one another, almost similar to a child begging for the arms of his mother. Mello stays suspicious, skeptical of her remorse, " _That's not true! I- I talked to him last night! We're s-supposed to go out a-and catch up – Mello, please, I.."_ Naomi could surely hear her now with the way she flinched, deterring her gaze to the floor then to the ceiling.

Every syllable expressed such deep sorrow and animosity towards the destiny A has ordained, and truth be told, Mello gradually became convinced to think of her otherwise. Mello must've recognized the song of misery as one that's been stuck in his head like a beating drum, pounding within his mind incessantly; quite similar to a venturing storm clouding his mind, the tides crashing him down with every day that passed where Mello dwelled on the loss over and over again. Not once did it fade.

The air turned as unpleasant as the dusk of guilt that lurked beneath the crown of gold. Linda hasn't spoken a word, either. Matt then exposes an open, gloved palm to Mello, presuming that one can't possibly tame a spark of flame with a ticking bomb three seconds close to exploding.

Matt bites his tongue before cajoling her, situating his goggles, "Hey, where are you right now? We'll come get you." The other detective throws him a disbelieving stare, but decides to go against it.

" _Matt...he's dead? Who did it? Tell me!"_

"You know that we can't jump to conclusions that fast." He persuades. "I'm sorry..."

She sniffs, raucous statements spilling out of her throbbing lips, " _If it's BB..."_ She starts, but Matt pretends not to listen.

"Don't worry; you're not the only one thinking that. Stay put and we'll talk about this later. Bye," Matt hangs up, instantly pointing a finger at his friend, moving it around as to ridicule his shameful bearings.

"looks like she doesn't know anything," Matt shifts to the blonde. "be gentle next time,"

"I'm not a kid." The blonde replies.

"Leaving soon?" Naomi implores, earning a nod from both. She ties wavy locks back in a professional bun, watching the two detectives step out of their gear; Matt hopping back to the six-year old pewter vest, Mello finger-combing the clustered locks smooth.

"Good luck," She smirks playfully, the two throwing her a sprightly look. Without further do, they sprint out of the crime scene, back to the shabby elevator leading to the first floor. Naomi hangs her head low, contemplating that she hasn't encountered someone of that standard in a while; and that the strange pair carried a nostalgic air around them, something she's seen before.

Matt clicks his red doors open, the engine stimulating to life, Mello fastening himself next to the driver's seat. The tires speed up and they begin the thirty-minute expedition at once heading to Raleigh, the boundless blankets above them no longer cobalt but of smoky texture, thunder bolts echoing across the cities.

Matt drives quietly, the blonde getting lost within his own pulverizing thoughts. At the fifth minute, Matt heaves a medium-sized zip-lock bag containing an atomic device with infinitesimal wires hanging loosely behind the black speck, pitching it to the leather lap.

Mello squeezes his eyebrows, inherently perplexed until he fully takes in the object. "...and what the hell is this?"

Matt glances at him through the rear view, smiling with obvious triumph, "I thought you're good at context clues? " Mello marvels the evidence on his grasp, his friend's exact words coming to mind. _A_ _bug_ , Mello thinks, and for a split moment, he appreciates the chain smoker's presence.

Matt pouts, protruding his lips, "Be useful, he said." Matt exclaims, "Stop pretending and do shit, he said."

"You did it alright," Mello laughs, ruffling merlot strands, "Thanks. Happy now?"

Matt fakes a squeal, flicking a stick of his drug as he accelerated, "Sweet."

"put your skills into good use and get something out of it." Matt whistles as a sign of affirmation. A vibration destroys the momentum, two pair of eyes detecting the blinking contact name the screen indicated.

Mello pokes the touch screen and puts in on loud speaker, allowing the three of them to initiate a proper and vivid conversation.

" _I'm just letting you know that the body has arrived for autopsy in my laboratory."_ The female voice goads; unable to hide the gleeful undertone from her voice. Mello raises a questioning brow until Matt sighs with relief, cuing the blonde of the progress taking place.

"Halle." They muse in unison.

" _It's what you planned,"_ She shuffles behind the line, " _Matt_." The redhead nods, Mello clearing his throat to demand an explanation on the sudden curve of events. Matt regards his uninformed companion through the rear mirror with a click between his teeth.

"when?" The blonde addresses the underhanded dodge, but certainly, he is far from upset.

"uh...I texted her? Don't give me all the credit. She volunteered."

" _My forensic staff can conduct better examination than those government rats."_ She smacks her lips with the raspberry maroon they pictured, stale eyes radiating, wearing the routinely stiff, pencil skirt that cuts short just right above her knees.

"You got away from Light?"

" _I didn't have to. He knows what I can do."_

"Yeah, you're quite the load of work." Matt replies, more of in the form of flattery, "I expect the same task from you, Lidner."

" _Of course, you'll be the first to know of what we find."_ Mello rests against the reclining chair; unwrapping the aluminum-covered treat from the ledge. It had almonds this time, and he couldn't be more content. " _Speaking of what we found, we noticed a clear trace of human spore from the tiny cartilage samples from the teeth."_ She objectively informs, listening for the slightest twitch of movement that may be heard from the two.

Mello slows down, assessing the statements closely while Matt focused on the road ahead, "A possibly struggled and bit the perpetrator's arms, is that what you're implying?"

" _How else would it get there?"_ She proclaims with conviction, " _It will be most efficient to decode its genetic make-up and then trace a DNA that matches from the database afterwards."_ She explains.

Mello folds his eyebrows, "How long?"

" _It will be no less than four weeks, including the other necessary procedures."_

"That's just about right. We'll wait, " Mello confirms, legs crossed. The case is shaping up faster than initially anticipated, unnerving the blond for the nearing climax in reality.

She eases her tone, _"I will call you by the time we receive an update."_

"We appreciate it, Halle." Mello ends the call. A long journey awaited them with twenty-five minutes left, the establishments narrowing to none as it was replaced by the woods lining the entirety of the dust path.

Mello angles himself vertically on his back against the glass shield, the streaks of yellow daffodil falling as he closes heavy-lidded eyes in attempt to merge the fragments of events and emotions into one singular idea. He twists - the somber force of reality sweeping the best of his thoughts. Only in that moment did he realize the gravity of A's death, the fume of decay and the inevitable variables which further magnified a possibility of what is to happen; how things are going to be for the blonde.

Or, how things have always been, _'Power is a factor that influences everything.'_

_'If it didn't, then BB shouldn't have escaped. Unfortunately, the law itself abides to that rule. '_ Mello turns stone cold and thoughtless, the altitude of his patience coming thin and unidentifiable. _'And that's how my life has always been.'_

Matt, who kept his silence for more than half of the ride, decides to put his pondering to a voice in attempt to quench answers from the blonde, gripping the stirring wheel tight, "You should stop thinking, Mello." He states without a chance of doubt. The blonde who held his gaze outside the window doesn't spare a glance but a single shrug of his shoulders, a third of the milk chocolate bar laying untouched.

"It's destroys you sometimes." Matt forces, sage eyes mimicking the latent aversion offered by the detective.

"I'm fine." Mello declaims, "I'm not thinking about anything in particular, to be honest."

"Mello..." Matt starts, "Actions speak louder than words."

"It just gets to you sometimes," Mello unfolds the crossed arms, "The things you run away from."

Matt sighs - he's seen the vulnerable condition countless times, and despite that, he himself remained obtuse of the sorts of terrible notions which tore the blonde apart. He may have never dared to probe such a dangerous place on his own, but at the very least, he could say that he was enough as barrier to keep him from walking past the margin of sanity.

Mello was never the type who settled the violent commands of his body so naturally, and sometimes it gets too far beyond what Matt can do so much as to prevent. It's becomes everything that is venom to them – driving Mello away from his foothold on substantial matters, which includes his responsibilities, his friend – even his own self.

It is unfortunate that the god-given solace to satisfy the detective's needs is not and will never be him; and that he was but an empty pit for Mello to pour all his afflictions. More so, he didn't handle Mello's complexity more effectively than an outlet should be.

The blonde is devoid of the only person who tinkered him so perfectly with expert hands; knowing exactly where each of his buttons were, and where his inner strife truly lay. This crucial existence was ripped away from the blonde, and no matter how much times he rejected this fact, it gets to him – the loneliness, the isolation, the _longing_.

Logically, even no great mind can fully reenact what cannot be replaced. Even if Mello had lost him, not once did his memories deviate so far as to forget. It is simply not that easy; not to any of them - not at all.

"Maybe you should stop running away then," Matt tells him too late, Mello surrendering into a state of slumber.

* * *

_A young boy would often sit on a wooden stool at every peek of the afternoon, gripping a long old brush between his thumb and finger, painting wordless poetry which endlessly warped across his fingers to his solemn mind. The gleeful shores never failed to greet his inward company; the sandy dunes tickling his mellow toes while the livid skylines were as if thin canvas of carmine and bright blue which he once illustrated._

_He's prudent in every degree - of every stroke and pigment, and of what he paints - lands and seas, and only lands and seas. His sole purpose is to bring life from the divine guidance of his hands, to sketch wood-fern offshoots like the wicked old it must be; pickle leaves being of light-weight grace; the magistracy of mountain ranges and the humid fog it should bring._

_Breathing like whispers at dawn, a mop of cotton wool adorning his brilliant mind, his flaccid, alabaster cheeks and lips all seek the cool breeze of the bay. Although his fingertips are ablaze, he profanes a little too short, with a slight tang of sharpness dripping from his words. Outward opinions coming from him may be rare for many, but not all._

_A few minutes after the said mark of sunset, a boy would come to meander behind his silly back, azure eyes blinking with the tempest of his emotions. He lingers close, the very microscopic hairs on his skin stiffening from the low winds, watching the boy in white pajamas._

_But, that didn't happen today. Not anymore._

_The canvas-like boy tucks his knees to his stomach, a habit of his, aware of the menace hovering his whole figure._

_He halts his cursive motions, taking a discerning look at his piece,- a domineering cliff hiding the expansive wrinkles of the ocean, hints of a blustering winds across the pine trees erecting from the towering land; a space void of day except for the spectacle of studding lights._

_A line to the left, then down to the south._

_He ponders where the man had gone – the boy who, rather than admiration, seethed with detestation between his teeth as he observed the complete counterpart of himself, balling his fists. Did he consider the possibility of the artist knowing of his presence? Or perhaps he did, - both knew, but acknowledging that would mean something; and it can be anything._

_It can be everything._

_"Three days," He runs a sallow finger on a wet spot, "and minutes."_

_The masterpiece is as it should be, but he wasn't done just yet. He draws a boy sitting on the edge where the slightest shift could drag him down to the giant body of water, every flaw and detail of the scene inscribed deeply within his own actions. It was no one, because only he knew of who it was._

_"I have miles to go…"_

_It's the last night of his life._

_For the first time, a tinge of remorse dwells within his indifferent chest, a dry smile making its way. He exposes himself with the gravest notion of all, the shore replaced with the thin ice beneath his feet. Melancholy touches his fingers, his own rationale bursting with all the roads not taken._

_He could say two simple words and everything would've been different, but he wasn't human until that sunset, until the man with admiral eyes and fire in his heart. He wasn't him, but a boy named Near, who functioned mechanically and considerably emotionless as compared to the rest; who prioritized logic over emotions, especially._

_In that nature, his empty hands felt a lot emptier, the heaviness in his heart steadfast. They were almost there – almost made it. But, he destroyed something so precious, what was once in him now gone, only dust and filth filling it the brim, his conscience acting like blisters._

_The solitude suffocates, not letting go – if it were, cool hands may take its place to clutch his neck, or the tides itself might finally tuck him in, enveloping his lungs._

_"I must go," He stretches his arms, hugging the vehement breeze, "Please, let me go."_

_This boy had miles to go,_

_Until love had gone lost._

* * *

**Author's Note: Oh my, chapter two is finalllyyyy done. Longer than the first but not to dragging, or is it just me? I know that the last part may be a bit unnecessary, but I really want to elaborate their relationship further and what Mello thinks of Near. Next chapter is ultimate progress + flashback on how they met and how Mello turned against Near. I want to be in character as much as possible so of course, there's no way it's going to be a cheesy fairytale romance. This story is about their love hate relationship, and despite that instability, they'd go as far as the ends of the earth to save once another. Cute and angsty, isn't?**

**Thank you for reading, commenting and putting this in your bookmark list :) The story does not show much just yet but I promise it will soon! Have a good day!**


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